


Love In The Corridors

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, College Student Castiel, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Professor Dean Winchester, gay rights stuff, shameless homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Cas sat frozen in his chair. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It wasn’t possible; not in this country, not in this century. It was twenty-fifteen, for fuck’s sake, and this was plain wrong. <em></em></em><br/>~<br/>When Professor Winchester announces that he will not tolerate any kind of homosexual behavior in his class, Castiel is outraged. In the heat of the moment he forgets all about his feelings for Dean and confronts him, but Dean's motives are entirely different from what Cas imagined...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love In The Corridors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdlexia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlexia/gifts).



Cas had never thought that drawing his professors would be how he’d spend his time in college. Sure, he’d doodled nothings and no ones all the time during classes in high school, but this was different.

He’s never had a crush before.

If he was being honest, he was so indifferent to the girls in his high school that he’d started to think he wasn’t capable of feeling sexual attraction at all, until that drunk New Year’s Eve he’d spent in some party’s back room with someone’s dick hard and hot up his ass, and he’d realized he was just gay.

Now, when he looked at Professor Winchester, he couldn’t help but sink into the fractions of green hues in his bright eyes, just a few rows of chairs away from him… And as always when his feelings would burn dominant within his mind at the thought of something, he felt an itching urge to draw it.

Dean Winchester was the youngest professor in their small college, and a very popular one, too. He knew how to talk to the kids, but at the same time was strict enough to keep his class in order. His youth kept Cas skeptical throughout the first class, he couldn’t deny, but by the time class was over he was absolutely charmed. Dean had a way about him – lightheaded, cheerful – things that were absent in Cas’ former life. Add that and his amusing sense of wit to the brown rough leather jacket and that bright smile… pretty much all of the girls in class were dreaming of dating him – all the girls, and Cas.

Cas’ unfocused eyes rose from the detailed doodle of soft lips and green-hued eyes upon his page, trying to concentrate on the professor’s speech.

“Alright, guys,” Dean said that moment, sealing this day’s class with his words.

 “I’ll see you next week. That’s when y’all have to hand in your essays, so it’s either today or next Wednesday, yeah?”

Students were starting to rise from their seats, some of them mumbling a monotone answer at the professor, but Dean’s sharp and sudden words made them all sit back down hesitantly.

“Oh, wait. Hold on.”

Cas turned to look at him, curious. The professor’s eyes scanned the crowd, swift but thorough, and then he spoke.

“I… I saw…” His voice was hesitant, but when he looked up at the students, the expression in his eyes hardened and he continued harshly.

“I happened to see a- a couple, in the corridors, a few days ago. Two guys.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to say, on that occasion, that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated here.”

A few muffled breaths ascended from the small crowd – some shocked, some approving.

Cas’ back straightened as if someone has poured ice water on it, his hard stare locking on the professor’s face. He was stunned, hardly sure that he’d heard right.

“I will not accept any homosexual behavior in this class,” Professor Winchester continued, locking gazes with as many people as he could, Cas included.

“And if I see anyone interacting that way here, they will no longer be in this class,” he finished. “Have a good day, everyone.” And with these words he dismissed the class and went to wait by his table, where students have gathered to hand him their assignments.

Cas sat frozen in his chair. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. It wasn’t possible; not in this country, not in this century. It was twenty-fifteen, for fuck’s sake, and this was plain wrong.

He stood up stiffly, gripping the strap of his bag tightly and stepping sullenly to where Professor Winchester was standing. He waited until everyone else had left the room, only then approaching him.

“Excuse me.” Cas’ voice was quieter than he intended it to be. His mouth was dry, failing to speak as sharply as his mind did.

The professor glanced at him.

“Got your essay, Mr. Shurley?” he asked. Cas’ assignment was indeed tucked finished and ready inside his bag, between his notebooks and hardcover books, but that hardly mattered to him now.

“No, I wanted to…”  _say; scream-_ “ask you about…”  _your inhumane behavior toward a perfectly equal community to-_

“About what you just said.” He wasn’t nearing finished, but his voice left him like a sea breeze being swallowed by the sun rays of a hot day.

The professor looked at him again, untroubled, as if he hasn’t just done a horribly wrong act.

“What about it?”

“Well,” Cas’ fingers tightened heatedly around the straps of his bag, his knuckles presumably turning white. “It’s wrong.”

Dean’s lips curved up with an amused beam. Cas opened his mouth angrily, intending to ask what exactly in his words seemed like a joke, but the professor’s words slid into the air before Cas’ managed to.

“Look, you seem like a nice guy and all, so I’mma tell you what this is all about. No ratting, though, yeah?”

Cas stared at him blankly, waiting silently for an explanation, since he couldn’t find a bit of sense in what he’d heard.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned his bottom against the end of his table. When he spoke, his voice was lower than before.

“Principal isn’t happy about all this. If he’d see anything happen, he’d throw these students out. Look, those boys I was talking ‘bout earlier? I haven’t seen them since that day, and that worries me. ‘M just trying to watch you guys’ back.”

“You said you’d throw them out if you’d see…” Cas’ voice faded confusedly.

“Of course I wouldn’t really do that.” Dean’s face flashed another amused smile. “But let’s be honest – no one wants out of my class, so if I tell them to do s’mthing, they’ll listen.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas insisted in a hard tone. “I still don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell us about the principal?” He looked at the professor, trying to find logic in the ten shades of stunning dance between humor and honesty in his eyes.

“That would get me in trouble.” The look in Dean’s eyes was deadpan now, staring into Cas’ eyes deliberately.

“I-“ Cas started, but the professor cut him off.

“Still don’t understand. Got it. Well, kid, I wish I could explain, but that story really shouldn’t be in your list of college experiences.” With somewhat of a smirk, he turned around and started shoving the papers on his desk into his backpack.

Cas wasn’t sure what to do. More than his confusion regarding what the professor had just said, there was another matter he felt himself itching to know now: he was curious about Dean’s story. 

“I’ll tell no one,” he heard himself say, and the professor’s hand faltered over his desk.

“No ratting,” he repeated carefully when Dean hesitated. He’d never used the expression before, and it sounded odd coming from his inexpert lips.

Dean looked at him, and he tried for half a smile.

“You can’t leave me hanging,” he said. Dean leaned on the table again, his eyebrows rising.  

“Fair enough,” he said carefully. “Well, if you gotta know, it was last year when he caught me with my ex-boyfriend.” Dean’s lips pursed into a steady line. He didn’t blush or show discomfort, as Cas always had when people found out he wasn’t straight. Dean seemed rather unapologetic coming out to him, and Cas wished it could ever be that easy for him.

“Caught you doing what?” he asked, trying to understand the situation’s complexity.

“Well, y’know,” Dean’s shoulders lifted up with what almost seemed like defense. “Fucking.”

Cas gaped at him, stunned. With all his might, he tried to force the pictures that pushed into his brain out. Dean’s naked chest, exposing his tan, smooth skin above firm muscles that tighten as his hands wrap around-

“You performed intercourse with someone at your workplace?” Cas’ tone was sharp, impolite enough to distract himself from his own train of thoughts.

Dean let out a small chuckle, one as quiet as a child’s shameful stare at the ground.

“I’m still young enough to make my own mistakes, Shurley. You’d be surprised.”

Cas looked him over, assessing his statement. Dean had never told them how old he was, but now that Cas got a look up close, he looked twenty four, maybe twenty five. Even younger than Cas has taken him to be.

“Anyway, the man almost kicked me outta here. He would, if I weren’t his little money-maker. Or maybe it was because it’d look weird if he fired the employee of the month or whatever,” Dean continued, coating the finish of his sentence with a snort. He didn’t pay much attention to Cas’ reaction, who was still staring at him disbelievingly.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he started slowly, his incredulous eyes still fixated on his teacher’s face. “That the principal wanted to fire you because of what you did, and not because of who you did it with?”

Dean waved his hand in the air heedlessly. “I apologized for that, of course. It was only when I wouldn’t agree to stop seeing men that he started getting real mad. I mean, I promised I won’t bring anyone to work again – believe me, I learned my lesson – but why would he care what I was doing with my free time?” Dean rambled on, closing his sentence with a sigh. “Well, he made it very clear that he did.”

He looked up at Cas.

“Look, kid, how old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen? Your parents pay loads of money to this place, to make sure you have the best future, the best opportunities. It’s a shame for me to see it go to waste over nothing.”

“What you call nothing is not worthless,” Cas argued rigidly. “Principles. Love. You can’t just sweep these things under the carpet.”

“Well, I’ve presented y’all the current state – straight or out. I get why some people find this unacceptable, and I rather you leave by choice than be kicked out the door.” His eyes dropped to the floor again, eyebrows furrowing pensively, and Cas thought about the guys that Dean had talked about earlier. How did it feel, being pushed out of your own school because of something you couldn’t even control? Without any warning? How could they know they were being persecuted? Surely it was better knowing from the start what you were getting into.

“Alright,” Cas huffed out, and Dean’s eyes rose to look at him. “I don’t think I get it, but I guess you were just trying to help.”

Dean grinned amusedly, some replacement for a snort he kept to himself. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for explaining,” Cas added. He didn’t know what to think; he needed to find a quiet place to sort his mind. A second before he turned around, though, he recalled the assignment in his bag and opened the zipper, shoving his hand inside.

Dean took the papers from his extended hand and looked them over shortly.

“Drafts?”

“What?” Cas asked, baffled.

“I need your drafts. Wanna see the writing process ‘n all.” He gestured with his hand at a pile of messy papers on his desk, beside a neater pile that was clearly the submitted essays.

Cas shoved his hand back into his bag and opened his notebook, finding the right pages promptly and ripping them off.

He handed the professor his drafts and turned around, walking away, as Dean called out,

“Hey, Cas?”

It took him a moment to realize Dean was talking to him and halt. He turned to face the professor again attentively.

“You’re the only one who came to talk to me about what I said.” Dean smiled at him, a crooked, smaller smile than the rest. Genuine.

“I won’t forget that.”

Cas nodded shortly, trying to suppress the burst of his heart, which only slightly sped up its trot in reaction to Dean’s words. He looked away then, trying to keep his cool as he stepped out of the room.

 

Cas yawned drowsily, chafing his palm against his shaven cheek as he tried to keep himself awake behind the register. There were two more employees occupying other registers by the wide counter of the coffee shop, and Cas had no current assistance from the costumers’ attention to remain sharp.

It was almost nine in the drizzly morning when the door opened and a familiar figure stepped in, shaking raindrops off its hair.

Cas’ back straightened instinctively as soon as he’d noticed him, his heartbeat picking up its pace. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to show up in here in the mornings, approaching a random register and taking his unchanging order, but this time he stepped right toward Cas’ register, giving up service from the empty ones next to him for the one-person line he were to stand behind.

“Hey, Cas,” he grinned once Cas was free to take his order.

“Professor,” Cas answered as pleasantly as his gawky mouth would allow. “Pie and coffee, as usual?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean nodded, watching him as he took a piece of pecan pie from the tray behind the showcase and put it in the heating oven, turning it on.

“So how are you?” Dean added casually. On the other side of the counter, Cas gulped nervously.

“Fine, thank you,” he said, fiddling with the coffeemaker. Now, once his mind wasn’t clouded with rage, Dean’s stare was much harder to ignore.

Cas’ cautious mumble didn’t seem to take the grin off Dean's face, who clutched his bag suddenly and opened it, rummaging inside.

“Hold on, I’ve got your essay.”

Cas’ eyebrows furrowed at the disposable cup he was filling; he had his Modern Literature class today. There was no particular reason for Dean to bring him the paper now instead of during class. Yet, he took the papers that Dean handed him over the counter suspiciously and traded it with Dean’s beverage and dessert.

“It was beautiful. You’ve certainly got a talent for writing,” Dean said as he handed Cas a ten dollar bill, and Cas felt his cheeks reddening and looked away.

“Thank you.”

“You may wanna go over my notes, though. There’s a coupla stuff to look through.”

Cas gazed up at the professor, who was already turning around to walk away with his things.

He barely registered Dean’s comment; something else was on his mind.

“Um – Dean?” he called hesitantly, not sure whether the private proposition was appropriate.

Nonetheless his worry, the professor glanced back instinctively.

“Can- can I ask you something?” Cas stammered, still reluctant.

“Sure,” Dean answered thoughtlessly and his body twisted fully toward Cas again.

“When… when the principal wanted to fire you,” Cas started, his voice lowering. Dean paced toward him to hear better, his lips dropping into a straight, serious line.

“Why didn’t you quit and go elsewhere?” Cas continued. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what he did was a clear violation of your fundamental rights. You could easily find the same job in another school, just as valuable.” He faltered for another second. “I would.”

Dean was silent for a long second, observing the shy yet decisive expression on the boy’s face.

“Well,” he opened deliberately. “There are the great conditions and large payment.” He lifted one shoulder into a careless shrug, but noticing the guarded glint in his eyes, Cas suspected there was more to it. He waited silently, giving Dean the freedom to decide whether to talk.

“It’s my family,” Dean admitted eventually, his thoughtful eyes set on the ground. “I have a brother in town. Turning twenty-one this summer.” He flashed a proud smile toward Cas. “I didn’t wanna leave him alone, y’know. But what would that matter to you?” he shrugged again, and another crooked smile appeared on his face. “Mr. Principles. You’re all about standing your ground, huh?”

Cas’ throat dried. “I’m sorry-“ he started, his face flushing dull red.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean cut him off promptly. “it’s not a bad thing.” He looked Cas over for another moment, and as if reading his insecure mind, he added mindlessly,

“Don't let anyone tell you that you’re cocky, eh?”

He reached out his hand then, catching Cas off guard as he patted his shoulder a couple of times. Cas watched him wordlessly as he turned around and left the small shop without a word.

Then he looked down at the paper in his hands.

 

It was one of his better works, given that he had enough time to write it and one hell of a motivation, wanting to impress his professor. The simple black letters at the top of the page read,  _The Ferocity of Animal Experiments and How It Relates to Modern Misogyny._ It was a hard one, Dean had said, because he wanted them to take two seemingly unrelated topics and find the connection between them.

The front page hadn’t left Dean with much to say. Cas went through the comments, grinning proudly at the remarks of  _“brilliant idea”_ and  _“good job”,_ and doing his best to heed the constructive criticism.

Occasionally, he checked the time. It was his five minute break, and he was sitting somewhere in the back, out of unwelcome eyeshot.

It wasn’t until he gathered all his scattered papers from the small table that he noticed Dean’s green ink on one of his draft papers. His forehead creased; he hadn’t thought Dean would comment on the drafts, too. With reluctant interest, he pulled the page out of the pile and looked at it.

It didn’t take him longer than a fraction of a second to notice; at the bottom of the page, drawn in sloppy black and prudent green, was the most horrifying mistake he’s made in his life.

The close-up sketch of Dean’s features was too obvious to ignore, especially by the owner of the face. By the drawing was a short paragraph written in green ink; Cas was too terrified to read it. His head dropped and his forehead hit the cold surface of the table. His face reddened so madly, his whole body felt warmer.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot._

It was clear as a see-through pond in a sunny morning. There was no other meaning to this drawing, no other way to interpret it. And now Dean knew.

He felt a lump settling in his throat and tried to swallow it.

 _Didn’t have a chance anyway,_ his thought came out bitter as he tried to encourage himself to raise his head and read the last comment on his paper.

Eventually, he gathered the courage.

 _You’re a very talented artist,_ the first line read. Cas’ hand flew onto his mouth subconsciously, covering it as he read the next words gingerly, with a bit more confidence, and found himself choking on his dread again.

_This is just unsavory, though._

Now his fingers were covering his forehead, tugging at the roots of his hairs, wondering how he would ever be able to look into the professor’s eyes again. He took a deep, shaky breath, and continued to the last and most faltering line.

_It’ll cost you… I dunno, a cup of coffee or something?_

Cas’ lips pursed with surprise, and he read the last sentence again.

And again.

Three words were added under the latest, sealing the message.

_If you like._

There was a smiley face by the end of the sentence.

Cas stared at the page speechlessly. Did that mean… what he thought it meant?

He read the short sentences again, once, twice, three times… and very, very slowly, a smile started curving his lips into a soft line.

 

* * *

 

 

“Cas.” There was the sound of clothes chafing, and something poked his arm. “Cas.”

“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily, too sluggish to open his eyes. He settled for slightly changing the angle in which his head rested on Dean’s shoulder.

“Wake up. You’re missing the best part.”

“Hmm,” he huffed.

“You’re missing the climax fight scene. Wake up.” He went back to nudging Cas’ arm, and Cas huffed drowsily against his shoulder.

“I don’t care.”

There were some concerning noises coming out of the television and Dean stopped bugging him, blurting quiet “look!” and “awesome!” every now and then.

“I swear to God, sometimes I forget  _I’m_ the five years younger one,” Cas groaned at Dean’s enthusiasm. His eyes opened into thin slits, studying the darkened small room shortly, and his head rose, only to fall again onto Dean’s lap.

Dean was sunken in the movie for several merciful minutes of silence, and then-

“Don’t you have any sense of basic curiosity? You’ve watched the first half of the movie.” Dean’s hand came to rest on Cas’ head mindlessly. “Don’t you at least wanna know how it ends? Pietro dies. Wanda joins the Avengers. And there’s a totally gay subtext-ed Steve and Tony scene in the end.”

Cas rolled over, his nose rubbing now against Dean’s sweater.

“Honey?” he asked sweetly, his voice coming out muffled as half his mouth was pressed against Dean’s stomach. He’d had a long, hard day, and didn’t want much more than to lay there and inhale Dean’s light scent of cinnamon and vanilla from their baking earlier.

“Huh?” Dean replied, his fingers trailing now along Cas’ neck and shoulder in a way Cas found very pleasant.

“Shut up,” he answered, moving one arm to squeeze between Dean’s waist and the couch to soften the insult. He could almost feel Dean rolling his eyes with a light grin.

“You love me when I babble,” he protested. His hand fluttered up to Cas’ ear this time and back onto his collarbone as he watched the final scene of the movie. “You said so yourself.”

Cas hummed an unintelligible approval and adjusted himself against Dean’s body.

Their fourth anniversary wasn’t anything close to special – given that they’ve both forgotten about it – but at the end of the day, on their ancient turquoise sofa, Cas was falling asleep with a smile, and Dean was the one to put it there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank Chuck for [Lindsey ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlexia)who (once again) helped me so much making this fic better. I owe you, like, five hundred potatoes. 


End file.
